Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood, born May 23, 1799, and passed away on May 3, 1845, was a British humorist and poet renowned for his comic verse and sharp satire. His most famous works include 'The Song of the Shirt' and 'The Bridge of Sighs,' which highlighted social issues and the plight of the poor. Hood's legacy is celebrated for blending humor with a deep empathy for human suffering, making his poetry both entertaining and thought-provoking.

May 23, 1799

May 3, 1845

English

Thomas Hood

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A Black Job.

"No doubt the pleasure is as great,
Of being cheated as to cheat." - HUDIBRAS.


The history of human-kind to trace,
Since Eve - the first of dupes - our doom unriddled,
A certain portion of the human race
Has certainly a taste for being diddled.

Witness the famous Mississippi dreams!
A rage that time seems only to redouble -
The Banks, Joint-Stocks, and all the flimsy schemes,
    For rolling in Pactolian streams,
That cost our modern rogues so little trouble.
No matter what, - to pasture cows on stubble,
To twist sea-sand into a solid rope,
To make French bricks and fancy bread of rubble,
Or light with gas the whole celestial cope -
    Only propose to blow a bubble,
And Lord! what hundreds will subscribe for soap!

Soap! - it remin...

Thomas Hood

A Fairy Tale.

On Hounslow Heath - and close beside the road,
As western travellers may oft have seen, -
A little house some years ago there stood,
        A minikin abode;
And built like Mr. Birkbeck's, all of wood:
The walls of white, the window-shutters green, -
Four wheels it had at North, South, East, and West
        (Though now at rest),
On which it used to wander to and fro,
Because its master ne'er maintained a rider,
Like those who trade in Paternoster Row;
But made his business travel for itself,
        Till he had made his pelf,
And then retired - if one may call it so,
        Of a roadsider.

Perchance, the very race and constant riot
Of stages, long and short, which thereby ran,
Made him more relish the repose and quiet
Of his now sedentary car...

Thomas Hood

A Few Lines On Completing Forty-Seven.

When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence -
There's cook a-calling John.

Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand and not on rocks,
We're hourly standing at Death's door -
There's some one double knocks.

All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms -
They're come to lunch of course!

And when my body's turned to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
Oh let them give a sigh and say -
I hear the upstairs bell!

Thomas Hood

A Flying Visit.

"A Calendar! a Calendar! look in the Almanac, find out moonshine - find out moonshine!" - Midsummer Night's Dream.


I.

    The by-gone September,
    As folks may remember,
At least if their memory saves but an ember,
    One fine afternoon,
    There went up a Balloon,
Which did not return to the Earth very soon.


II.

    For, nearing the sky,
    At about a mile high,
The Aëronaut bold had resolved on a fly;
    So cutting his string,
    In a Parasol thing
Down he came in a field like a lark from the wing.


III.

    Meanwhile, thus adrift,
    The Balloon made a shift
To rise very fast, with no burden to lift;
    It got very small,
    Then to nothing at all;
And then rose t...

Thomas Hood

A Friendly Address To Mrs. Fry In Newgate.

A Friendly Address To Mrs. Fry In Newgate.^[1]

"Sermons in stones." - As You Like It.
"Out! out! damned spot!" - Macbeth.



I.

I like you, Mrs. Fry! I like your name!
It speaks the very warmth you feel in pressing
In daily act round Charity's great flame -
I like the crisp Browne way you have of dressing,
Good Mrs. Fry! I like the placid claim
You make to Christianity, - professing
Love, and good works - of course you buy of Barton,
Beside the young Fry's bookseller, Friend Darton!


II.

I like, good Mrs. Fry, your brethren mute -
Those serious, solemn gentlemen that sport -
I should have said, that wear, the sober suit
Shap'd like a court dress - but for hea...

Thomas Hood

A Lay Of Real Life

"Some are born with a wooden spoon in their mouths,
and some with a golden ladle."        GOLDSMITH.

"Some are born with tin rings in their noses, and
with silver ones."                SILVERSMITH.


Who ruined me ere I was born,
Sold every acre, grass or corn,
And left the next heir all forlorn?
                    My Grandfather.

Who said my mother was no nurse.
And physicked me and made me worse,
Till infancy became a curse?
                    My Grandmother.

Who left me in my seventh year,
A comfort to my mother dear,
And Mr. Pope, the overseer?
                My Father.

Who let me starve, to buy her gin,
Till all my bones came through my skin,
Then called me "ugly little sin?"
                My Mother.

Thomas Hood

A Parental Ode To My Son, Aged Three Years And Five Months.

    Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop, - first let me kiss away that tear) -
    Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)
    Thou merry, laughing sprite!
    With spirits feather-light,
Untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin -
(Good heav'ns! the child is swallowing a pin!)

    Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
Light as the singing bird that wings the air -
(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)

    Thou darling of thy sire!
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire!)
    Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents - (Drat the boy!
    There goes my ink!)

    Thou cherub - but of earth;
Fit playfellow f...

Thomas Hood

A Parthian Glance.

"Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail." - ROGERS.


Come, my Crony, let's think upon far-away days,
And lift up a little Oblivion's veil;
Let's consider the past with a lingering gaze,
Like a peacock whose eyes are inclined to his tail.

Aye, come, let us turn our attention behind,
Like those critics whose heads are so heavy, I fear,
That they cannot keep up with the march of the mind,
And so turn face about for reviewing the rear.

Looking over Time's crupper and over his tail,
Oh, what ages and pages there are to revise!
And as farther our back-searching glances prevail,
Like the emmets, "how little we are in our eyes!"

What a sweet pretty innocent, half-a-yard long,
On a dimity lap of true nu...

Thomas Hood

A Plain Direction.

"Do you never deviate?"
            John Bull.


In London once I lost my way
In faring to and fro,
And ask'd a little ragged boy
The way that I should go;

He gave a nod, and then a wink,
And told me to get there
"Straight down the Crooked Lane,
And all round the Square."

I box'd his little saucy ears,
And then away I strode;
But since I've found that weary path
Is quite a common road.

Utopia is a pleasant place,
But how shall I get there?
"Straight down the Crooked Lane,
And all round the Square."

I've read about a famous town
That drove a famous trade,
Where Whittington walk'd up and found
A fortune ready made.

The very streets are paved with gold;
But how shall I get there?

Thomas Hood

A Public Dinner.

"Sit down and fall to, said the Barmecide."
Arabian Nights.


At seven you just nick it,
Give card - get wine ticket;
Walk round through the Babel,
From table to table,
To find - a hard matter -
Your name in a platter;
Your wish was to sit by
Your friend Mr. Whitby,
But stewards' assistance
Has placed you at distance,
And, thanks to arrangers,
You sit amongst strangers,
But too late for mending;
Twelve sticks come attending
A stick of a Chairman,
A little dark spare man,
With bald, shining nob,
'Mid committee swell-mob;
In short, a short figure, -
You thought the Duke bigger.
Then silence is wanted,
Non Nobis is chanted;
Then Chairman reads letter,
The Duke's a regretter,
A promise to br...

Thomas Hood

A Report From Below!

"Blow high, blow low." - SEA SONG.


As Mister B. and Mistress B.
One night were sitting down to tea,
With toast and muffins hot -
They heard a loud and sudden bounce,
That made the very china flounce,
They could not for a time pronounce
If they were safe or shot -
For Memory brought a deed to match
At Deptford done by night -
Before one eye appeared a Patch,
In t'other eye a Blight!

To be belabor'd at of life,
Without some small attempt at strife,
Our nature will not grovel;
One impulse hadd both man and dame,
He seized the tongs - she did the same,
Leaving the ruffian, if he came,
The poker and the shovel.
Suppose the couple standing so,
When rushing footsteps from below
Made pulses fast and fervent;
And first bu...

Thomas Hood

A Retrospective Review.

I.

Oh, when I was a tiny boy,
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind! -
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!


II.

A hoop was an eternal round
Of pleasure. In those days I found
A top a joyous thing; -
But now those past delights I drop,
My head, alas! is all my top,
And careful thoughts the string!


III.

My marbles - once my bag was stored, -
Now I must play with Elgin's lord,
With Theseus for a taw!
My playful horse has slipt his string,
Forgotten all his capering,
And harness'd to the law!


IV.

My kite - how fast and far it flew!
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew
My pleasure from ...

Thomas Hood

A Sailor's Apology For Bow-Legs.

There's some is born with their straight legs by natur -
And some is born with bow-legs from the first -
And some that should have grow'd a good deal straighter,
But they were badly nurs'd,
And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs
Astride of casks and kegs:
I've got myself a sort of bow to larboard,
And starboard,
And this is what it was that warp'd my legs. -

'Twas all along of Poll, as I may say,
That foul'd my cable when I ought to slip;
But on the tenth of May,
When I gets under weigh,
Down there in Hertfordshire, to join my ship,
I sees the mail
Get under sail,
The only one there was to make the trip.
Well - I gives chase,
But as she run
Two knots, to one,
There warn't no use in keeping on the race!

Well - casti...

Thomas Hood

A Serenade.

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!"
Thus I heard a father cry,
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!"
The brat will never shut an eye;
Hither come, some power divine!
Close his lids, or open mine!

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
What the devil makes him cry?
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Still he stares - I wonder why,
Why are not the sons of earth
Blind, like puppies, from the birth?"

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!"
Thus I heard the father cry;
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Mary, you must come and try! -
Hush, oh, hush, for mercy's sake -
The more I sing, the more you wake!"

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Fie, you little creature, fie!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Is no poppy-syrup nigh?
Give him some, or give him all,
I am nodding to his fall!"

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!<...

Thomas Hood

A Singular Exhibition At Somerset House.

"Our Crummie is a dainty cow." - Scotch Song.


On that first Saturday in May,
When Lords and Ladies, great and grand,
Repair to see what each R.A.
Has done since last they sought the Strand,
In red, brown, yellow, green, or blue,
In short, what's called the private view, -
Amongst the guests - the deuce knows how
She got in there without a row -
There came a large and vulgar dame,
With arms deep red, and face the same,
Showing in temper not a Saint;
No one could guess for why she came,
Unless perchance to "scour the Paint."

From wall to wall she forced her way,
Elbowed Lord Durham - poked Lord Grey -
Stamped Stafford's toes to make him move,
And Devonshire's Duke received a shove;
The great Lord Chancellor felt her nudge,

Thomas Hood

A Storm At Hastings, And The Little Unknown.

'Twas August - Hastings every day was filling -
Hastings, that "greenest spot on memory's waste"!
With crowds of idlers willing and unwilling
To be bedipped - be noticed - or be braced,
And all things rose a penny in a shilling.
Meanwhile, from window, and from door, in haste
"Accommodation bills" kept coming down,
Gladding "the world of-letters" in that town.

Each day poured in new coachfuls of new cits,
Flying from London smoke and dust annoying,
Unmarried Misses hoping to make hits,
And new-wed couples fresh from Tunbridge toying,
Lacemen and placemen, ministers and wits,
And Quakers of both sexes, much enjoying
A morning's reading by the ocean's rim,
That sect delighting in the sea's broad brim.

And lo! amongst all these appeared a creature,

Thomas Hood

A True Story.

Of all our pains, since man was curst,
I mean of body, not the mental,
To name the worst, among the worst,
The dental sure is transcendental;
Some bit of masticating bone,
That ought to help to clear a shelf,
But lets its proper work alone,
And only seems to gnaw itself;
In fact, of any grave attack
On victual there is little danger,
'Tis so like coming to the rack,
As well as going to the manger.

Old Hunks - it seemed a fit retort
Of justice on his grinding ways -
Possessed a grinder of the sort,
That troubled all his latter days.
The best of friends fall out, and so
His teeth had done some years ago,
Save some old stumps with ragged root,
And they took turn about to shoot;
If he drank any chilly liquor,
They made it quit...

Thomas Hood

A Waterloo Ballad.

To Waterloo, with sad ado,
And many a sigh and groan,
Amongst the dead, came Patty Head,
To look for Peter Stone.

"O prithee tell, good sentinel,
If I shall find him here?
I'm come to weep upon his corse,
My Ninety-Second dear!

"Into our town a sergeant came,
With ribands all so fine,
A-flaunting in his cap - alas!
His bow enlisted mine!

"They taught him how to turn his toes,
And stand as stiff as starch;
I thought that it was love and May,
But it was love and March!

"A sorry March indeed to leave
The friends he might have kep', -
No March of Intellect it was,
But quite a foolish step.

"O prithee tell, good sentinel,
If hereabout he lies?
I want a corpse with reddish hair,
And very sweet blue eye...

Thomas Hood

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